


Cadmium

by Code16



Series: As Told [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Broken John, Captivity, Compulsions (Mind Control), Dark, Dread, Hurt No Comfort, Kind of mind control, M/M, Obedience, Partial Mind Control, Threats, act of defiance, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9853241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16
Summary: "He doesn’t know what comes over him."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Great thanks to enemyofperfect for beta.
> 
>  
> 
> Chronologically, this takes place before Downtime.

He doesn’t know what comes over him. 

He’d spent the break in bed, which is about how he usually spends breaks when it’s not cleaning or exercises or sitting at the table playing stupid games with whatever he can find underhand that doesn’t make him want to throw it across the room. (Mostly the condoms. By respective (un)popularity, they’ve tended to end up with less new associations than most other things. (And more old ones. Not that remembering safer sex PSAs isn’t its own source of memories best not revisited often enough. If for contrastive reasons.)) 

The door chime means seven minute readiness, means he needs to get up, and change the sheets, and put himself where he belongs. Ready. 

Instead he stays where he is, pulls the sheet up around his head. (He’s pretty sure there’s fluids around there somewhere. Can’t bring himself to give a damn. Not like he hasn’t had exactly that, and worse, in his face enough times. And about 20 minutes ago). Tries to ignore the part of his brain marking time ticking away.

The door chime sounds again, differently. He moves enough to stick his head back into open air.

“Go away!  _ Please _ .” Then he curls himself under the covers again.

  
  


The door chime doesn’t sound again. He can hear the door when it opens. Knows it’s Hersh by the footsteps. (Not that he  _ hadn’t _ known. But the guy went on missions sometimes, didn’t he. Or home. Torture babysitting couldn’t be a full time job.) (John finds himself curling tighter, tense. Which is stupid. Out of all the options, hitting him while he’s hiding under a sheet seems hardly top of the list. But unconscious activations don’t really care about such details.)

“Get out of bed.” Sometimes John finds himself wishing he’d gotten a torturer who’d actually sound angry. Nothing like a few sets of level orders that end in begging to pass out to make you wish for someone yelling in your face.

Whatever came over him, apparently it’s still around. He stands, half dragging the sheet with him, close enough to the bed to nearly lean on it. Glares, somewhere between the floor and a foot or two to the right of his not-guest’s legs. (Can’t quite bring himself to raise his head, or turn. Or say anything.)   

He doubts he’s even getting an eyeroll. “Put down the sheet, push your pants down below your knees, walk directly over to the side of the table opposite the wall, bend over the table face down, spread your legs, and stay still.”

If he works at it he can play with order sometimes, when it’s implied and not explicit. He keeps dragging the sheet with him until he reaches the table, pushes his pants down before bending over. Can’t keep himself from tensing again.

“Get up.” He stands. A fist in the stomach is easy. A knife isn’t much harder. The rest of the menu’s an order, a staircase away (he doesn’t tend to get to take the stairs). Tension is starting to almost hurt; his lungs feel like they might start spasming. (It’d be easier, almost, if there’d been a threat already. The kind of order that might leave him screaming. Like this it’s like pouring gasoline on a fire he hasn’t seen yet. Waiting.) “Pick up the sheet. Then walk directly back to the bed and leave the sheet there. Then walk directly back and bend over as you were. And stay still.” There might still be loopholes. His brain feels incapable of processing them. He picks up the sheet, crosses to the bed, returns. After a moment feels a body behind him. 

It’s not close enough to feel his cock through the cloth, but he knows it’s there. (Has wondered sometimes if Hersh takes a pill for this, or trained himself to the level of control, or actually gets that aroused at the proceedings. He’s pretty sure he’s not getting to find out). Flies sliding down, clothes rustling, are commonplace sounds by now. Too easy to be aware of. There are no fingers, not preparing, not testing. Just a cock in him, deep and unforgiving.   

John knows perfectly well this isn’t punishment. Just a reminder of circumstance, like standing at attention while being read a riot act. (Of all the things he’d never thought he’d miss, John thinks sometimes. Mostly the not thinking is better.)

Someone coming in him can be good news, these days. It’s not near a certainty, but many enough end things not long after, at that point. This, indubitably, is not one of those times. 

“Before we continue to it, I’m going to explain to you what will happen now.” Hersh’s voice isn’t even unsteady. John still can’t move, stares at a surface he’s entirely memorized and wholly fails at not thinking. 

“I will let you stand up and continue about your day. You won’t approach the bed; you won’t make use of it or its articles unless your visitors ask. You will be polite to your visitors and not create difficulties for them. At the end of the day, you and I will have a conversation.” He moves away, footsteps and body heat and voice. “How that conversation goes - is currently up to you.” 

These aren’t orders. Have no more than natural hold on him, no more than human force (yet). He doesn’t know if to hate them more or less. (Can’t turn, can’t look around, can’t know-). Hersh is back next to him. John grinds his teeth together. He’s not starting to beg before he’s barely even in pain he isn’t-

“I’d like to hear your acknowledgement. Politely.” That’s also not an order. His not-guest doesn’t stand on ceremony often. He’s not sure if it’s for better or for worse. He’s mostly stopped giving a damn what the guests have him call them, by now. Not much of a balm, desensitization, but he’s not got much to chose from. 

‘I’d rather bite my own tongue out’ sounds a lot better when that’s not actually an option.

“Yes sir.” He says it into the table. Tastes blood and isn’t sure it’s real.

“You can get up. Stillness rescinded.” John stands. Has to fight down a feeling like a trip wire to pull his pants back up. He’s allowed, there’s no reason he isn’t-.

The part about the bed is repeated as an order. The rest isn’t. His orders about not attacking anyone he’s not told to are thorough, standing and repeated. He’s not danger to the guests, even without adjustment.  _ “difficulties.” “currently up to you.”  _

He’s ordered through changing the sheets, the texture suddenly acutely vivid against his fingers, skin.

“You have 18 minutes to shower.” He doesn’t need 18 minutes to shower. He’s not sure if it’s a reprieve or some sort of time out. He doesn’t want to be sure. He thanks the guests when he’s told; might be used to it someday or other, he thinks. The rest -  _ rather bite my own tongue out, _ he runs through his head. Doesn’t know if he wants it to be true. 

The door closes; the clock he can’t see ticks time away. He walks to the shower. 

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant verse info: due to a Strange Event, John has a non-magic version of an obedience curse. He also does have enhanced healing, which the ISA has figured out how to extra-enhance if they want.
> 
> [Re the title](https://www.google.com/search?q=cadmium+yellow&client=safari&rls=en&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi02NeQrqDSAhXC5iYKHX4rBo0Q_AUICCgB&biw=1158&bih=756).
> 
> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](http://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


End file.
